“There is my aunt,” she said. I spied a small picture of them in your house, though. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. “I said that at the Zoo, and I mean it. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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